Quit the games
by D.D.Darkwriter
Summary: Johnny comes alone a few ‘rude’ drunks, and of course…He has to teach them a lesson.No pairings.


Title: Quit with the games

Chapter(s): One shot

Rating: As of now: PG 13

Category: Johnen Vasquez

Summary: Johnny comes alone a few 'rude' drunks, and of course….He has to teach them a lesson.

Warning: Violence. No adult situations. May not make sense.

Other: Read at your own leisure.

It was smoldering. It's vibrating beats consuming. Each noise, each movement that was attempted was that of a throbbing pain. That pain consuming him with what once was a healthy, strong, and unquestionable comfort. Now though, what was once so soothing and so calm, was a burning and contorted feeling of misery.

Questions that had never before plagued his mind now threatened to overwhelm him. They caused a growing anxiety that he could almost not control. 'Am I going to die?' It throbbed, each beat his dieing heart made was punctuated by each single throb.

He closed his eyes. Behind his now sealed lids was a constant blackness. In the darkness of it, red blots much like that of paint splatters were everywhere. With every other beat of his heart, new ones, some large and some small, would splatter onto that dark canvas.

He took a breath in, his gasping motion nearly choking him in his struggle for life. He heard them, those screaming voices. It seemed that nothing else could be heard. Nothing more then that stuttered screaming shout. Nothing more then that alone.

He opened his eyes. He could see, the room around him coming into view once more. What was once consumed in that dark black and red abyss was now grey stone, covered in tools and weapons. Old blood stains dominated over the growing mold.

"Well now…" The voice was almost a shadow. It seemed nothing more then a muffled whisper.

"You…A wake…Even….Still?" The voice came viciously. It could be heard, in and out. It was almost as if it were faded.

The man looked up. He could feel, besides the pain, cold stone floor. He gave a groan, perhaps it was just his body slipping away though?

"Le--let…me--go--go." He stuttered. Most of his teeth had been pulled out, and he was chocking on his own blood now.

"Why, you're not going---make it…" The man must have leaned down, for besides the sour smell of his own blood, the man could smell the killer's breath. It was warm. "Even if I did let you go…'re…going ---to…ve." Every time he spoke, the man's head would throb to the way his voice was reverberating in his mind.

The man gave a small groan, painful and long. He closed and opened his eyes, trying to roll over. The hook in his thigh, and the one in his side, prevented him from moving.

His captor had dragged him here, it had been his twenty- first birthday, and he had gone out drinking. He had been with friends, and on their way home, they had bumped into a strange, thin-gothic looking man. He wore a black shirt with the letters N-n-y in a vertical position.

The man's friends had made a comment to the odd man, and before he knew it, three of his friends were dead. He was the only one left now. Although it was hazy, he had remembered being pulled back across town, and brought to a run down looking shack. The odd man had forced him inside, and down many stair ways.

Once they had gotten to the room, the man realized that his life was in danger. He had been able to punch the oddly looking man, but soon found himself kicked in the chest. in the drunk state, the man was unable to keep up a struggle.

The odd man had then stabbed a hook into his side, then kicked it in further.

The man was then dragged to the opposite end of the room with a chain that had been connected to the hook.

Then, a second hook had been added, this time, to his upper thigh.

Now, the man could feel his body numb, but still something screamed from the pain. He didn't even have the energy to cry from the physical abuse.

"Haha…" The man above him said, "I bet… you'll ne-- be-rude to-- other---person again."

"Ki--ll me." The man said. His eyes closed, and the only thing he could think of was the pain.

"Fine." The man answered.

The twenty-one year old wasn't sure when he died, or how he was killed, but he did hear the words of his friends, cheering him on at the news he gave them at the bar. Their words of encouragement as he broke the news of his girlfriend finally accepting his proposal to marry him.

Began: Mon. July 20, 2009. 12:46 PM

Finished: Mon July 20, 2009. 1:24 PM

-D. D. Darkwriter

For my words,

Though soft and sweet,

Hold cunning in the wind.

And with the sound,

And angels beat,

Come here, racing in.


End file.
